


Holmes and Moriarty - Refictionalization

by qxzenith



Series: Refics and Wall Emergencies - The Wall Will Fall [9]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Wall Will Fall
Genre: Ancient Artifact, Berserk Button, Canon drug use, Gen, Macgyvering, Maskerade Ball, at Holmes' insistence, crossdressing Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qxzenith/pseuds/qxzenith
Summary: In the fall and winter of 2012, the TVTropes team behind Echo Chamber ran an incredible ARG (Alternate Reality Game) called The Wall Will Fall. The premise of the game was that the Fourth Wall between fiction and reality was fracturing, and needed to be repaired as fictional characters fell through into our world. Part of the game mechanic was the writing of fanfiction, involving specific characters, settings, and tropes, to return the characters in question to fiction.This series consists of the pieces I wrote for these events, although only three of my attempts were chosen as canon in the game.This piece was NOT chosen as canon, and it's clear why. Nevertheless, here it is. The criteria was that it had to include both Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty in their original setting, along with the tropes Masquerade Ball, Macgyvering, Berserk Button, and Ancient Artifact.
Relationships: James Moriarty/Morgan Le Fay, Sebastian Moran & James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Moriarty
Series: Refics and Wall Emergencies - The Wall Will Fall [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721554
Comments: 2





	Holmes and Moriarty - Refictionalization

**Author's Note:**

> In the fall and winter of 2012, the TVTropes team behind Echo Chamber ran an incredible ARG (Alternate Reality Game) called The Wall Will Fall. The premise of the game was that the Fourth Wall between fiction and reality was fracturing, and needed to be repaired as fictional characters fell through into our world. Part of the game mechanic was the writing of fanfiction, involving specific characters, settings, and tropes, to return the characters in question to fiction.
> 
> This series consists of the pieces I wrote for these events, although only three of my attempts were chosen as canon in the game.
> 
> This piece was NOT chosen as canon, and it's clear why. Nevertheless, here it is. The criteria was that it had to include both Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty in their original setting, along with the tropes Masquerade Ball, Macgyvering, Berserk Button, and Ancient Artifact.

Holmes watched through the window as the inspector disappeared down the street.

"That was an affair I'm glad enough to be rid of," his companion remarked.

He turned from the window at the words. "Why do you say that, Poirot?" he asked, taking up his pipe in his hands. "We have much to reflect upon when encountering individuals like that. To merely wash one's hands of it and wish it done with is to deny oneself great opportunity for mental stimulation, is it not?"

His friend merely stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before asking, "What... did you just call me?"

Holmes glanced at him with irritation. "All I said was..." he trailed off, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, for a moment there I could have sworn that I was... somewhere else."

"I think you need to lay off that stuff," Watson told him seriously. The doctor snatched up his friend's seven-percent cocaine solution, and made to do away with it.

The change in his companion was instant. "Put that down!" Holmes roared, and lunged at Dr. Watson, tackling him to the ground as he retrieved his cocaine, holding it aloft with triumph. The men stood, eyeing each other awkwardly as they straightened their clothing.

"That disproportionate reaction only reinforces my certainty that you're better off without the cocaine," Watson commented mildly, once he had had the time to gather his wits. "You do this every time I bring up the issue; it's not rational, Holmes, and it's not like you."

"I need that solution," Holmes retorted, his face still darkened by his momentary fury. "It helps me focus. Besides, it had nothing to do with that slip-up. The feeling was... odd. I can't quite describe it, but I assure you the two are unconnected."

This dispute was cut short and swiftly forgotten, however, by the arrival of Mrs. Hudson to announce an impending visitor for Mr. Holmes.

Moments later, a woman swept in, looking distraught. Watson withdrew to a corner of the room as Holmes motioned for her to sit.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the detective told her as she seated herself.

The woman looked at him sharply. "How did you know my father just died?"

"Simple," Holmes assured her. "Although you aren't wearing black, the colours you're wearing are unusually muted compared to the vibrant shades generally worn by women of your societal stature-- which, in turn, is obvious from the paleness of your skin and the softness of your hands. Furthermore, there is an unusual shading on your skirts, as though there is a black shift underneath them instead of a white one.

"I can further tell you that though you took a coach across the city to see me, you walked at least the last two streets rather than have your coachman know where you were bound, that you have slept little lately-- presumably related to your father's death-- and that you are holding an object of great importance to you in your left hand."

"So what they say of your deductive skills are true," the woman commented. "Very well. My name is Clara Danville. As you surmised, my father died a little over a week ago, and I have had very little sleep since then.

"My father and I have been estranged for years. On his deathbed, perhaps, he wished to take a step toward mending our broken relationship, and so, while I remained cut out of the inheritance as I have been since our estrangement, he did bequeath me one thing: a family heirloom he knew that I have always coveted. Family lore has it that it has been passed down from parent to child since Arthurian times, that it may have been used as a stone of power by Morgan Le Fey herself. As a lifelong mythology enthusiast, I couldn't help but love the thing." She passed the object she held to the detective, explaining, "This was a facsimile he had made for me as a child, back when we were still on good terms. It's nowhere near as dear to me as the real thing, of course; but it's a fairly accurate idea of what the stone of power looks like."

As Holmes examined the rock, holding it up to the light, Clara wrung her hands and continued to speak. "But the day after it entered my possession, it disappeared; one morning it was locked away in my safe, then that evening when I returned to check on it, the safe was empty!"

***

He stared out the window, looking out over the grimy city of London. "Just think... as we speak, Holmes will be interviewing Miss Danville, drinking in everything she tells him."

"How can you be so sure that Holmes won't see through her story?" his companion asked, sounding nervous.

He smiled. "Because there's nothing for him to see through. Sometimes the best deception is the truth, not quite fully formed, rather than a lie in its entirety. And people are so easy to manipulate when they're emotionally overwrought." He held the rock up to the light. "It is quite an interesting bauble to look at. I'm almost tempted to keep it and test it as the witch urged me to. But I feel sure that its buying power, so to speak, is worth more to me than its essence."

"I don't understand."

The man's lip curled derisively. "What, you think I spent all that time around her for her looks? Holmes is the more interesting quarry here."

"No, I-- what are you talking about, Professor? Whose looks?"

The man's smile faltered, as he struggled and failed to grasp the threads of what he had been thinking a moment before. "Something about... It matters not," he rallied magnificently. "The point is, I don't need the trinket. And Holmes is bound to play right into our hands."

"Is it time to snap the trap shut, then, sir?"

The professor shook his head tolerantly. "Not quite yet, my dear Moran. The board has been set; now it's time for us to move our first piece, before he can be expected to play."

***

"You remember Miss Danville from last week?" Holmes asked.

His friend nodded as he looked over some paperwork.

"Read this, Watson," Holmes insisted, thrusting a pair of notes at the doctor. "It arrived this morning."

With a sigh, Watson put down what he had been doing in order to see what Holmes wished to show him.

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I found this at my home last night. I trust you will know best how to deal with it.

\--C.D.

The second sheet was written in a different hand:

Miss Danville--

It appears that an item of great personal value, sentimental and otherwise, to you has found itself unfortunately to be in our possession. While we do not complain of this state of affairs, we suspect that you may have some reservations with the idea of this item remaining in our power.

As such, we are providing you with an alternative option for recovering your missing property. Please see the attached invitation for details.

Watson flipped the sheet over, but there appeared to be nothing further written on it. "Invitation?" he queried his friend, who was still holding a third sheet of paper.

"To a Masquerade Ball," he answered, still examining the invitation. "Tomorrow night."

"Someone's got a twisted sense of humour," Dr. Watson commented, "insisting she attend a masked ball when her father's not dead two weeks."

"Perhaps," Holmes agreed absently, "but as it happens she won't be going."

"She won't? Then how--"

"We will," Holmes finished, with the traces of a smile gracing his lips.

"Is it invitation only?"

"Are you asking whether they'll be checking, Watson, or whether we'll be able to get in?"

"'We'?"

"Yes, 'we'. Something tells me there's something more going on here than a mere case of theft and ransom, and I'd feel a lot better if you could come with-- and bring your revolver. As to _how_ , well, we _have_ the invitation now, my dear Doctor. It is a _Masked_ Ball, after all; we'll be going in the place of Miss Danville and her escort."

***

"Disguised as a waiter, sir?"

"Yes, Moran, it affords a freedom of movement that I'd lack as a guest, forced to socialize in order to blend in."

"And you're sure I shouldn't go instead?"

"Quite sure," came the sharp reply. "I intend to take care of this myself; it requires... careful handling."

"But Professor, there's no way you'll be able to take a weapon in there as a waiter. How can you..."

The professor smiled. "I assure you, I won't need to take a weapon in there at all. I find that sometimes, the best weapon is the one that's least expected."

***

Watson plucked at the skirts that hung oddly around him. "Remind me again why I'm the one in the dress?" he hissed at Holmes.

"One of us has to be Miss Danville," Holmes hissed back, "and it's the best way to sneak your revolver in."

Holmes and Watson, little bits of string around their ears making their faces look somewhat more like masks, presented the invitation to the doormen, who waved them through without a problem. Slowly, deliberately, they began to examine the room and their fellow masked guests, in order to determine exactly what was afoot-- who was orchestrating the theft and who was merely an unsuspecting partier.

In the name of blending in, they were each forced to oblige their fellow guests in a couple of dances when asked-- which Holmes did considerably more suavely than Watson, who was still struggling with his unusual clothing-- before reconvening in an unobtrusive corner to confer.

"Is it just me, or does that waiter at the dessert table seem... off?" Watson asked.

Holmes nodded approvingly. "I was hoping you'd pick up on that. Can you tell me what pulled your attention to him, or is it just an instinct?"

Watson wrinkled his brow in consideration, trying to put words to his impression. "He seems a little  _too_ ... diligent."

"Too diligent? But he's certainly seemed to slack off a couple of times despite large quantities of guests queueing for his help."

"Yes, I suppose diligent is the wrong word. But for all his calculated "slacking off", a normal waiter, especially at his table, would take a few tastes of the food; he'd hardly get in trouble for it. But in two hours, I haven't seen the fellow take a bite yet."

"I daresay you're becoming more like me every day, Watson," Holmes said with a smile.

"It's a good thing you're the one telling me that, or I'd worry it's not a compliment," his friend quipped back. "But what do you suppose we should do about him?"

"For now? Nothing. We'll wait for him to make the first move. I have no doubt that he will."

***

Indeed, only two pairs of eyes watched unseen as the man who stood at the dessert buffet began, to all appearances, neatening up the table, taking up a couple of empty cake plates and an assortment of cutlery that had been lying on the table. He attached two of the plates by bending a teaspoon through some of the decorative holes on the plates' edges, ripped a strip from the tablecloth and wound it through yet another hole, slowly incorporating every bit of apparent junk he had salvaged from the table. At last he took some brandy from the jug on the table, poured it into an aperture on his contraption which suddenly became recognizable as, albeit one most unusual and primitive-looking, a gun of sorts, and lifted it to his eye as though seeking a specific target.

"Aim well," whispered a voice coming from just behind him. The man whirled around, to see the detective and the doctor, the latter with his revolver out and trained on him.

"James Moriarty," Holmes acknowledged, an unspoken "I should have known" practically hovering on the edge of his voice.

"Sherlock Holmes," the professor returned, in an ironic tone. "So glad you could come." As Holmes opened his mouth to speak, Moriarty held up a hand. "Before you ask what you will, allow me to assure you that Miss Danville will find her pebble back in her safe, undamaged, by tomorrow morning. That was only a distraction, to lead you here."

"To lead me here? You could, I presume, have simply found me at my usual quarters on Baker Street, which are fairly well-advertised these days?"

"Could I?" Moriarty mused. "And been heard out, under those conditions? I doubt it. Besides; this is how I operate. Excuse me if I think you might have been less inclined to listen to me were our positions different than they are now."

"Very well, then," Holmes sighed; "to what end all this? Why go to such lengths to speak with me?"

Moriarty darted an irritated look at Holmes' companion, then went ahead with his words anyway. "I've experienced a... a flash of perspective, if you will. Shall we be locked in stalemate forever? I can tell you how it plays out: I transgress; you hunt me down; and then I slip out of your fingers once more. To borrow your words, to what end? It would save us both a good deal of inconvenience if you agreed to leave well enough alone. I will give my assurance that my actions will not directly affect you, and in return, you will assure me that you will not directly pursue  _me_ ."

To the bafflement of both the other men, Holmes laughed, a quiet, drawn-out chuckle, and shook his head. "Setting aside the flagrant abuse of justice through inaction that you're asking me to perform, I could never accept this bargain, nor should you want me to. You say you've had a... flash of perspective? Very well, then; so have I: Men like you  _need_ me, my dear Professor. We complement each other. Few enough exist who can match either your intellect or mine; and without anyone to stimulate and challenge us, our minds would grow stagnant, atrophied. It's not a stalemate so long as we're still changing the face of the board.

"While I would not chance to underestimate this firearm of yours, I feel confident that the good doctor's revolver is just as efficacious; therefore, I will say this: as you have guaranteed that Miss Danville shall receive her stolen property, I will say or do no more on that matter, just this once. Let us walk away from one another this time in good faith, and we will hope for both our own sakes that we meet again another day-- in less amicable circumstances. Good evening to you, sir."

With that, Holmes and Watson made their way past the masked revellers out into the crisp London night, where they managed to find a cab still out at that hour, able to take them home.

Still posing as a waiter, James Moriarty smiled to himself as he carefully dismantled his makeshift weapon, placing the component parts back on the dessert table. "Just. As. Planned."


End file.
